


The Magic Cat

by dot_the_writer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Cat Cafés, Explicit Consent, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Oral Sex, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dot_the_writer/pseuds/dot_the_writer
Summary: When Harry sees Draco Malfoy with painted nails and wearing an oversized jumper covered in cat fur, his obsession from school comes back in full force. Featuring supportive friends, cute cats and lots of Harry figuring out what he wants.





	The Magic Cat

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based upon the following prompt:  
> 34\. You can’t give consent if you don’t know what you want. Harry and Draco find themselves drawn to each other after the war, but they (both or one of them) decide they can’t be together until they sort out what they want. The problem is, sorting out what they want is really hard (internalized homophobia, post-war issues, lingering war resentment, worry about other people, trust issues, difficulty accepting the content of their sexual desires, etc.).
> 
> Thank you for the wonderful prompt, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> A huge thank you to [Dexiha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexiha/pseuds/Dexiha/) and Millie for being quick and insightful betas. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own. Lastly, thank you to the mods for putting this fest together (and thank you for the small extension)!

The kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld Place is illuminated by starlight and the soft glow of a _Lumos_ , revealing a dark-skinned man sitting at the table with a mug full of tea. His green eyes are hidden by a pair of black-rimmed glasses sitting crooked on his nose. The house is silent, save for his quiet yawns and the creaking of stairs above his head.

The footsteps draw closer and another person enters the kitchen. “Harry,” the girl says through her yawn, “What are you doing awake?”

Harry rises and kisses the girl on the cheek, moving her bushy hair out of the way. “Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs.

“I thought you were sleeping better, now that you aren’t living here all alone.” She steals his mug, ignoring his half-hearted protest. “Come on, back to bed.”

He takes his mug back and drains the tea before they head up the stairs.

“Sleep with me and Ron tonight, okay? I know it helps.”

Harry nods, too exhausted to start an argument that he knows he’ll lose anyway. When Hermione has her heart set on something, she doesn’t back down. It’s been that way since they were eleven.

Two sets of feet pad down the hallway to a partially open door, where soft snores come from within. Two hands connect as Hermione leads Harry to the bed. She climbs in first, nudging Ron over until he wakes and makes room.

“This house is bloody freezing,” he grumbles. “Get under the covers, you’re letting all the warmth out.”

Hermione snuggles up next to Ron, turning to face Harry. With the blankets tight over them and Ron’s lanky arm across both his bedmates, Harry feels like he can breathe again.

They used to sleep like this. When they were huddled together in the tent in the Forest of Dean, sleeping together was the best ways to stay warm and connected. Harry never worried about his friends’ safety when they were within arm’s reach.

But now, his friends are moving on with their lives. They have jobs – Ron’s working with George at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and Hermione is working at the Ministry and studying magical law in her spare time. Ron’s starting to think about proposing. And Harry is left behind, worrying he’ll never move past the feelings of loneliness and fear that crept into his heart while on the run.

The war might have ended, but for Harry, it’s not yet over.

Still, Hermione was right. Surrounded by her and Ron, their soft snores and slow, sleepy movements, it doesn’t take long until his eyes are shut and his breathing slows as he falls asleep.

* * *

In the morning, it’s easier to pretend everything’s all right. The sun shines through the curtains and Harry feels a little bit lighter.

He rises early, extracting himself from the tangle of limbs that belong to his closest friends, and heads downstairs to the kitchen. He enjoys cooking, it’s almost a guilty pleasure of his. When he was a living with – and cooking for – the Dursleys, his time in the kitchen could almost be considered fun. It was usually just him and Petunia, and if he hadn’t yet messed anything up, it almost felt like he was a wanted member of the family. She would show him how to crack eggs and make bread, how to cook rice and stir-fry vegetables.

Harry’s always enjoyed using his hands to make things, and it’s an added bonus when he’s making something as tasty as breakfast to be shared with his friends, his chosen family. And without the Dursleys, the only sometimes unpleasant presence in the kitchen is Kreacher, though the house-elf has continued to warm up to Harry since the war.

On weekdays, Harry finds purpose in waking and making breakfast for the friends who live in his house before they go to work. He doesn’t have an actual job – really, he doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life – but helping those he cares about makes him feel a bit less useless.

Hermione rises first, padding down the stairs into the kitchen, a collection of bobby pins between her teeth as she tries to tame her frizzy black hair into a bun. She comes over the stove, standing on her tiptoes to press a light kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Sleep okay?”

Harry nods. “Better once you came and got me.”

“You know that you can always come into our room, right?” Hermione looks so earnest, glancing back at Harry over her shoulder as she starts the kettle.

“I know.”

Ron comes down next, yawning widely and stretching his hands above his head. “What’ve we got for breakfast?” He asks, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Pancakes? You’re the best, mate!”

He gives Harry a smacking kiss on the cheek, a habit of his when he’s tired, leftover from living with his siblings at the Burrow. Harry will never admit it, but it’s one of his favorite signs of affection from Ron.

The smells wafting out of the kitchen brings Luna and Ginny, her red hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She’s already dressed in her Holyhead Harpies Quidditch kit. Luna lives at Grimmauld Place full-time; it’s her home base when she’s not searching for wrackspurts and other fantastic beasts, but Ginny only stays at on the weekends, as during the week she’s too busy with the team.

“Bye, everyone! I’ll see you at the game this weekend, yeah?” Amidst a chorus of affirmatives and goodbyes, she snags a hot pancake from the pile. Heading for the Floo, Ginny gives Luna a hug and goes through the green flames.

Harry always misses her when she’s gone; Ginny’s loud and sarcastic, brave and loyal, and Harry’s exceedingly glad that they’re still as close as they are. They tried getting back together after the war, but they had both changed irrevocably during their year apart. Whatever they had been before, they weren’t anymore. Their split had been amicable. Then Ginny started dating Luna and neither could be happier.

Harry looks over at the other three, who are all sitting around the table draining their tea and eating pancakes.

“Harry, I meant to tell you –”

“Ron,” Hermione interrupts. “Chew first. Honestly, I’m not your mother.” She rolls her eyes.

Ron chews dutifully and looks back at Harry. “George has some new products at the shop. If you want to come in with me, I’m sure he can use a tester.”

Harry laughs. “Last time you suggested that, my hair was violet for a week.  _ All _ of my hair.”

“I think I’d quite like that,” Luna says. She laughs, the melodic noise filling the small kitchen. “My hair would look good purple, don’t you think?”

Harry smiles. Honestly, if any of his friends were to try purple hair, Luna would probably pull it off best.

“Well,” Hermione says, standing to put her plate in the sink. “I’m off to work. We have some really interesting cases right now, and I’m still trying to get the Wizengamot to change the policies regarding house-elf rights. We might have a breakthrough soon!”

They all nod; her speech on house elves is one they’re all intimately familiar with.

“I should be off too,” Ron says. He grabs another pancake as he stands, eating it as he waits for Hermione to grab her briefcase. “Harry, anytime you want to come with, let me know, okay? George would love to see you.”

Harry can’t do anything but nod. Each of his friends tries to get him out of the house in their own way. He knows he doesn’t leave enough, but he hates dealing with the reporters and the crowds.

The Floo roars green, and green again, and Harry’s left with Luna. Silence is always comfortable with her, and they sit at the table slowly finishing their pancakes. Luna discovered rainbow sprinkles a few years back, and now everything she deems acceptable – a list which apparently includes pancakes – is covered in them. Her schedule as a magizoologist is erratic at best, but Harry’s always grateful for her presence when he has it. It makes the quiet days at home a bit less intrusive on his thoughts.

Luna helps him with the dishes, as goes their routine, the tips of her dirty blonde hair getting wet under the warm water. Harry showed her the muggle way of washing up after she moved in, and she’s been fascinated ever since. Ron and Ginny don’t understand, but for the other three, there’s something cathartic about the warm, sudsy water.

“I think you should get a cat.” Luna hums as she washes, handing the dishes to Harry to dry them, and he nods at her apparent non sequitur. He knows it can take her Ravenclaw brain a minute to figure out the words for what she wants to say. “This house is too big, even with five of us living here. And when we’re all busy, you shouldn’t have to be all alone.”

Harry knows all of his friends are concerned about him. Luna is the only one who hasn’t pushed him to sell the house, understanding immediately when he explained it wasn’t right to abandon the only tangible thing Sirius left to him. They were meant to live here, together, and now that Sirius is gone, it’s only right that Harry continue to live in Grimmauld Place.

“I don’t know if a cat is the answer to my loneliness.”

“Hmm, no, it’s not the answer,” she says, passing him another dish. “It’s not as simple as you make it sound. But a cat might help.”

Besides Hedwig, Harry’s never had a pet. And even now, classifying her as a just pet makes his heart ache; she was more than that. She was a friend. Maybe Luna has a point though – Hedwig always made the summers at the Dursleys’ a bit more bearable. Granted, she was probably a bit smarter than a cat, and could bring him correspondence from his friends, but maybe a pet  _ is  _ what he needs. At least it could be a start.

The long days when Ron and Hermione are at work, Luna’s travelling and Ginny’s busy with the Harpies are hard for Harry. He’s started redecorating projects in half the rooms of Grimmauld Place, but it’s never enough to keep him occupied, or to make him happy.

Might as well try something new.

“You know what, Luna? Sure. Let’s look at cats.”

What’s the worst that can happen?

Luna lets out a squeal of delight and throws her arms around Harry. “Perfect! I know just the place to start the search. There’s a cat café downtown – it’s technically muggle, but run by a witch and wizard I know from Hogwarts. The cats are all adoptable.”

Harry nods. Luna’s enthusiasm is catching, and he feels good. This feels right. For the first time in months, he feels like he has a mission, a purpose, and he’s excited.

* * *

Luna doesn’t want to give Harry a chance to change his mind, so they head to the café early that afternoon. They  _ Apparate _ to a dilapidated alley a few blocks away and walk the remaining few streets. Harry can’t help but crack a grin as they reach the storefront: a large, multi-colored sign declares the name of the shop as  _ The Magic Cat _ and features a cat wearing a pointy black witches’ hat. A bell rings and a gust of cold winter air follows them as they step inside.

The café smells like tea and freshly-baked biscuits, and a tabby cat immediately tangles itself between Harry’s legs. The shop is cosy. A counter stands off to the side, a large menu of food and drinks displayed behind it, and the rest of the café is filled with bright rugs and mismatched furniture. Fairy lights are strung around all the windows and an assortment of climbing posts for the cats are spread around the space.

“Luna!” The woman behind the counter rushes out and envelopes her in a hug. “So good to see you – Merlin’s missed you.”

Sure enough, a black and white cat extracts itself from the man petting it and runs over the Luna, yowling loudly until she picks it up, cuddling it against her chest.

Harry freezes for a moment when he recognizes the woman – Luna hadn’t mentioned who ran the shop, but the way she phrased it, Harry assumed he didn’t know the owners. Either Luna hadn’t thought it was relevant that the café is run by a Slytherin, or she thought that Harry wouldn’t come along if he knew.

He hasn’t seen Millicent Bulstrode since his days at Hogwarts, and in all honesty, probably hasn’t thought about her since then either. She’s grown up well. Her long brown hair is swept into a messy bun at the nape of her neck and her clothes are casual, well-worn. She’s still heavy-set with a round face, but her wide smile is disarming and the laugh lines around her mouth and the outer corners of her eyes make her appear friendly, even happy.

She pauses for a moment when she sees Harry and he can feel her giving him the same scrutiny. After a tense second, she smiles at him, and he supposes he must pass her test.

“Harry Potter,” she says, holding out a hand to shake. “Never thought I’d see you in my shop.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know it was yours.”

Luna smiles, a bit sheepishly. “I may have left that detail out.”

Bulstrode lets out a loud laugh, warm and rich. “You, my dear, should have been a Slytherin.” She turns to Harry, her smile becoming a bit strained but her eyes earnest. “Call me Millie. Drink of choice on the house, I do it for all of Luna’s friends.”

Harry nods. “All right, Millie.” His anxiety had spiked for a moment upon seeing her, but it begins to settle back into his chest.

“What do you want? Luna loves our peppermint hot chocolate – it’s still quite popular this time of year.”

“Sounds great – thank you.”

A few minutes later, he and Luna and making their way to a pair of overstuffed chairs in the corner with two peppermint hot chocolates, extra whipped cream on both. Luna sits down and places Merlin in her lap, while the tabby continues to follow Harry, almost tripping him as he takes the seat next to her.

The cat is a beautiful light orange colour across his torso, but his ears and tail are much darker. His tail has a kink in it near the top, turning the last inch in an almost perfect right angle. The tabby’s eyes are a light blue, almost grey colour; it’s quite unusual, but Harry thinks there’s something familiar about it. It reminds him of a stormy ocean, but the memory of the colour is just out of reach.

“Luna, why didn’t you tell me Bulstrode ran the shop?” Harry isn’t angry, he doesn’t think so anyway, but he is confused.

“ _ Millie _ runs a wonderful café.” Luna shrugs. “I know you’ve never gotten along with the Slytherins, and I didn’t want you to back out of coming – you already leave the house so rarely.”

Harry deflates. He’s holding onto grudges from school, never having given the people they’re against a proper chance.

Millie walks over, holding out a couple of biscuits, and notices the orange cat now perched in Harry’s lap. “We call him Beau. My partner named him, it’s French for ‘handsome.’” Millie looks at Harry and laughs. “He likes you, I can tell.”

The cat, Beau, does indeed seem to have taken a liking to Harry. He’s positioned himself in Harry’s lap, shamelessly rubbing against Harry’s face and arms in search of affection.

“How’d you get him? Luna said all the cats are adoptable.”

“Are you interested? Beau’s a bit of a special case. We get most of our cats from local shelters, letting them live here in hopes of adoption. Others are dropped off by their owners, if they can’t care for them any longer. But Beau, he just showed up. My partner was opening the café one morning, and Beau just trotted in after him.” Millie leans down and pets the tabby under his chin, receiving a purr in response. “He’s such a sweet cat, we couldn’t turn him away.

“If you want him – or any of the cats – let me know. There’s some paperwork and we ask about your habits, to make sure you’ll be a responsible owner, but I think the Saviour of the Wizarding World can probably handle a cat.” She says it without malice, but Harry still flinches involuntarily at the nickname. “Besides, you have Luna to vouch for you, and she wouldn’t even hurt a nargle.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon drinking hot chocolate and petting the cats. The flow of customers is slow and steady, as to be expected for a Monday in winter.

By the time they’re ready to leave, both Harry and Luna have a sleeping cat in their laps. Millie watches them from behind the counter as they slowly extract themselves, trying – and failing – to not wake Merlin and Beau.

“Have a nice evening! Harry, think about Beau, and know you’re welcome back anytime, with or without Luna.”

Harry knows that he and his friends have changed and grown drastically since Hogwarts – why should that be any different for a Slytherin? He waves at Millie as they leave, taking her peace offering to heart.

Luna skips ahead on the short walk to the Apparition point. Harry trails behind, thinking about the afternoon. He felt relaxed for the few hours they spent in the café, normal in a way he hasn’t felt in forever.

That evening, his high spirits continue as he cooks dinner. Harry sees Ron and Hermione exchanging glances when they think he’s not looking. More and more since they’ve been dating, they can have entire conversations with raised eyebrows and shrugs – they don’t seem to realise Harry spends enough time with them to tell what they’re saying.

Hermione raises both eyebrows (she’s worried about him), Ron shrugs (telling her to either ask him or leave it alone) and Hermione rolls her eyes (she’s going to wait for a few days and see if anything else happens).

Harry knows they’re worried about him, but for the first time since the war, he wonders if they really need to be. Maybe Luna was right, and this whole adopting-a-cat-thing is a start at making him better.  When it’s time for bed, Luna pulls him up the stairs and they sleep together in Sirius’ old room, underneath a blanket of red and gold. Harry dreams of cats with crooked tails wearing black hats and Slytherin ties.

* * *

He waits a day before allowing Luna to drag him back to The Magic Cat. He isn’t entirely sure why, but something in him panics at the thought of returning right away. Harry’s never been good with change – having your entire life turned upside-down at the age of eleven can do that to a person – and even though going to a café and interacting with people (and cats) is probably a good thing, it’s hard for Harry to go along with it.

Still, it’s a rainy Wednesday morning and his only other feasible option is to continue the renovation of the Grimmauld Place, which Harry is dreading and therefore avoiding, so he gives in when Luna says she wants to visit Merlin.

“It’ll be good, Harry. Beau took such a liking to you, I’m sure he misses you.”

Harry isn’t sure about that, but he does like the tabby.

They  _ Apparate _ to the same little alley and walk to the shop. They open the door and a voice behind the counter drawls out, “Welcome to  _ The Magic Cat _ ; what can I get for you today?”

Harry stops dead in his tracks. There’s a shock of blond hair attached to the owner of the voice, who is currently looking down at a magazine on the counter. Beau is sitting next to the blond, half asleep and purring.

Harry thinks about turning and running back to the safety of the street, or even better, screwing the Statute of Secrecy and  _ Apparating _ on the spot.

“Are you going to shut the door? You know we have cats in here.” The man glances up as he says it, and Harry’s chance to flee is ruined as he makes eye contact with Draco Malfoy.

Draco sodding Malfoy, who has painted nails and an oversized jumper covered in cat fur, reading a magazine and petting  _ Harry’s cat _ .

Luna, apparently oblivious to the tension, lets out a squeal of delight. “Draco! Millie didn’t tell me you were back from France yet.”

He breaks eye contact with Harry as he turns to look at Luna, and Harry feels like he can breathe again. Sort of.

“I just got back this morning,” Draco says. “Millie’s been working for a week straight, so I wanted to give her the day off.”

Harry realises with a start that Malfoy must be the partner Millie was referring to, the one who named  _ his  _ cat. It seems like an unlikely combination of people to be running a cat café, but Harry doesn’t know either well enough now to think of what else they could be doing.

“How was the trip? How’s your mother?”

“Mother’s much better, thank you for asking. I got her settled in her new cottage, and she loves the book you sent on the different magical creatures who are native to France.”

Harry is openly staring at Luna now. He had no idea she and Malfoy were in contact, much less that Luna and Narcissa were on a friendly basis.

“Harry, you go find us some seats and I’ll order.”

Harry nods, not trusting himself to speak, and follows Luna’s directions. He goes to the same chairs they were in the other day, which are placed in one of the corners of the café. Harry likes the familiarity of them already – his choice definitely doesn’t have to do with the fact that he has a clear view of the counter, and the employee behind it.

The last time he saw Malfoy had been at the trials. Harry attended every trial, an exhausting feat. He spoke in favor of light sentences for both Malfoy and Narcissa, and testified against many of the Death Eaters, including Lucius. Anyone with the Dark Mark had been held in Azkaban to await trial, so by the time is was Malfoy’s turn to go in front of the Wizengamot, he was gaunt. His high cheekbones were even more pronounced and he appeared sharper than ever.

It was the second time Harry had seen him look completely defeated. The first had been in sixth year, a moment of weakness in the bathroom that had never been discussed.

They made eye contact after Malfoy’s sentence had been handed down, and on Harry’s way out of the courtroom, Malfoy looked like he wanted to say something, but Harry couldn’t bear to hear it. He didn’t want an apology; he didn’t want to hear that Malfoy had changed.

But that truth was now staring Harry in the face. There’s no way the Malfoy he knew in school would dress like that, or be happy petting a cat and flipping through a trashy magazine. He watches Malfoy behind the counter, smiling and laughing with Luna as he prepares their drinks. He must be different. He looks good too, in an objective way. He moves gracefully with his lithe frame, nothing like the clumsy way Harry does. His hair is short, but not slicked back like he used to wear it at school, and it’s a little bit wavy. He looks happy.

Harry’s interrupted from his thoughts as Luna sits down.

“I got you a peppermint hot chocolate; you seemed to enjoy it the other day.” She smiles and hands it to him. There’s a yowl and Luna’s lap is suddenly full of a black and white cat. “Merlin!”

“Luna,” Harry doesn’t know if he feels angry or upset, or even a bit betrayed. “Why didn’t you tell me Malfoy works here?”

She glances over at him, a look of innocence across her face. “Does it matter?” She shrugs. “You wanted to get a cat, and this is the best place I know. Anyway, Draco and Millie are my friends.”  She states it like it’s obvious, like it should be expected. Harry gives her a blank look in response.  “You were there for Draco’s sentencing, yes?”

He nods. Of course he was. Of all the trials, Malfoy and Narcissa’s were the two he felt most bound to attend.

“He had to return to Hogwarts and complete an eighth year under supervision. It was either that or Azkaban. Draco was one of the few eighth years to return, and we became friends.”

Harry had thought about returning. McGonagall sent letters to his entire year, offering them the chance to spend one more year – a normal year – at Hogwarts and an opportunity to sit their NEWTs. He had wanted to, but then he thought about sitting in the Great Hall for meals, and the only thing he could picture was Fred, Remus and Tonks spread out in the hall among the other dead.

After that, he couldn’t go back.

Most of his friends had felt the same. Neither Ron nor Hermione returned; Ron didn’t need NEWTs to work at the shop with George and Hermione took them at the Ministry without additional schooling. Even when they were sleeping in a tent, she refused to fall behind on her studies.

“When I was being held in the dungeon at his house, Draco would sneak down and bring me food and little notes.” She shrugs. “It wasn’t much, but I know it was all he could do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve never liked Draco. I didn’t know it would be of interest to you that we’re friends.”

“He’s never liked me!”

Luna gives him a look and mutters what sounds suspiciously like “boys” under her breath.

Malfoy comes over then, trailed by Beau, and leans into Harry’s personal space to place a couple of muffins on the end table between Harry and Luna. Harry’s senses – just for a moment – are overwhelmed by the smell of apples as Malfoy’s hair nears Harry’s face. Beau jumps into Harry’s lap and starts kneading his legs, causing Malfoy to look greatly betrayed before turning to Luna.

“Here you go, fresh from the oven. Let me know if you need anything else, yeah?”

He doesn’t even glance at Harry as he walks away.

Harry feels unsettled. From the ages of eleven to seventeen, Malfoy was an unwanted constant in Harry’s life. At Hogwarts, he was the embodiment of everything Harry was fighting against. He was loud and brash, a blood-purity obsessed bully who reminded Harry of Dudley.

Malfoy’s snark and sarcasm were two of his defining traits. His petty tricks and attacks on Harry – the “Potter Stinks” badges and the Dementor costumes – were the currency in which they interacted. Harry never liked Malfoy, not since their first interaction while being fitted for robes, but he was always aware of him. But the Malfoy he sees in the café doesn’t seem like someone who would be mocking and cruel.

They’ve interacted for years, and yet seeing him now, Harry wonders if he ever knew Malfoy at all. The thought is almost worrisome, and something in Harry wants to remedy that.

The pair finish their hot chocolates and their muffins, sitting in a comfortable silence. Afternoon turns to evening and they head back to Grimmauld Place, leaving two disappointed cats behind. Harry spares Malfoy a glance as they leave, only to find the blond already looking at him.

* * *

“Guess who we ran into today?” Luna’s sitting, a ball of yarn in her lap, knitting with one needle and her wand.

The four of them are relaxing in the sitting room after having finished supper. Hermione looks up from Ron, who’s sitting at the floor by her feet. “Who?”

“Draco.”

“Malfoy?” Ron splutters, eyes wide.

Harry glares at Luna, then at everyone else, since all eyes seem to have landed on him. “Do you know another Draco?”

“Why were you hanging out with  _ Malfoy _ ?” Ron seems to be having trouble breathing.

“Luna never said  _ hanging out _ ,” Harry clarifies. “We just saw him; he and Millie run a cat café.”

Hermione had been silent yet far, but interrupts at that point. “Millie? Millicent Bulstrode?” She shrugs. “After the incident in second year, I can’t say I’m surprised to hear that’s what she’s doing nowadays. We know she’s always liked cats.”

“And we know you can’t tell the difference between hair and cat fur.”

Hermione glares at Ron, but her smile gives her away. Harry’s glad that the conversation shifts from Malfoy to the safer topic of their shenanigans at Hogwarts.

It seems like he and Malfoy have been on a collision course since they first met; their paths have always, almost inevitably, intertwined, and Harry isn’t sure what’s to come with the final impact.

And yet, he can’t stay away.

It’s as if seeing Malfoy again has broken something in Harry. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about the other boy from time to time since the war, since the trials, but now, Harry can’t get Malfoy out of his head.

He won’t admit it, not out loud, but for the second time in his life, Harry is becoming rapidly obsessed with Draco Malfoy. He tries to stop going to the café after seeing Malfoy once; the blond made it clear by his complete ignoring of Harry that he was not in fact happy to see him, but Harry’s never been good at letting things lie.

He doesn’t know what it is about Malfoy – he can’t explain the obsession, but Harry does know that he’s going back. He wants Malfoy to talk to him.

And so, a week after his first visit, he returns to the café. It’s a dreary Monday morning, and after everyone has left the house – Luna to visit her father for the day – he  _ Apparates _ to the café. He doesn’t even know if Malfoy will be there, but he needs to check.

His luck holds.

Harry walks into the shop and behind the counter is Malfoy, looking entirely pissed off.

“Potter. What the hell do you want?” Malfoy scowls, a look of utter disdain across his sharp features.

Harry falters, feeling suddenly unsure. Channeling his Gryffindor bravery, he plows ahead. “Just a peppermint hot chocolate, please. And can I have one of the muffins you brought over the other day?”

“Fine.”

Malfoy rings him up and starts preparing the order.

Harry takes a deep breath. “How’d you start working here, anyway?”

“I don’t work here, I’m co-owner,” Malfoy snaps. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Harry ignores the second comment. “Well, how’d you get to be co-owner?”

“Not a lot of opportunities for wizards with the Dark Mark, Potter. You helped to make sure of that.”

Harry feels his temper flaring, and decides to stop before he ends up yelling at Malfoy. Somehow, he figures that won’t encourage Malfoy to like him. He takes the drink and the muffin and goes to find a seat. The café is only about a third full, so he finds a comfortable chair and relaxes. Shortly after, there’s a soft meow and his lap is full of cat.

“Hello, Beau,” Harry whispers, stroking the cat’s back. “Well, at least you’re glad to see me.”

He sips his drink, the perfect combination of peppermint and whipped cream. Whatever made Malfoy decide to own a cat café, Harry’s glad for it. He can make an adequate cup of tea – what kind of Brit would he be if he couldn’t? – but this, this is perfect. Harry stifles a moan when he bites into the muffin. It’s even better than the other day, as this time, it’s still warm from the oven. Malfoy shoots him an unreadable look from over the counter before turning back to his magazine.

When Harry leaves the shop that afternoon, he isn’t any closer to actually adopting a cat or getting Malfoy to speak to him, but he still feels better than he has in a long time.

* * *

Over the next couple weeks, Harry throws himself into the renovations of Grimmauld Place. The shrunken house-elf heads come down, and so does the portrait of Walburga Black – once Harry, Luna, Hermione, Ron and Ginny all team up and figure out a solution to the permanent sticking charm. The portrait screamed bloody murder the entire time, but eventually, she was removed, covered, and taken to the basement to await further action.  


But Harry’s distraction proved unsuccessful; even in Grimmauld Place, he’s constantly reminded of Malfoy. There’s a box of family photos in the attic, and he finds some of Narcissa, her smile so much like her son’s. On the tapestry, Narcissa is connected to Lucius, with a thin line leading to Malfoy. Tears run down Harry’s face as he looks at the tapestry. Sirius and Andromeda are burned off, black holes where their likenesses should be, but here’s Malfoy, his stoic face staring back at Harry.

Hermione finds him there, sitting on the floor, staring up at the tapestry.

“Sirius was going to run away to my father’s.”

Hermione nods, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder.

“He wanted me to live with him. In this house he hated.”

She wraps her hand around Harry’s shoulder, knowing that words will never be enough to fill the void of losing Sirius. It’s one of Harry’s biggest regrets of the war. If he had been better, stronger, if he had learned  _ Occlumency _ as Dumbledore wanted, then maybe Sirius would have been saved.

His tears continue to fall, silently in the darkness.

* * *

The bell above the door rings as Harry and Luna enter the café. The familiar smell of coffee and warm scones greets them, as well as Malfoy’s confused face behind the counter. He looks like he can’t decide between scowling at Harry or smiling at Luna.

“Potter,” Malfoy spits the name as if it offends him, which Harry supposes it might.

Ignoring the tension now between them, Luna steps up to the counter. “Draco, so good to see you. We’ll have two cups of Earl Grey, and a couple of biscuits.”

As she orders, he makes his way to their usual seats with their usual cats. Harry hates to think he’s been here enough times to have a routine – he’s slightly worried about what that might say about him – but he knows he’ll keep coming back.

Harry watches Malfoy as he works; he’s wearing a loose flannel, the sleeves just barely rolled up, exposing a hint of the Dark Mark on his left forearm. His movements are deft as he prepares their orders. A drop of tea spills down the side of one of the mugs and Malfoy wipes it away with his long fingers.

Harry wonders what it would be like to have those fingers intertwined with his own. The thought makes him blush, and he’s thankful for his dark skin as he looks away.

They’re currently the only customers in the shop, so when Malfoy brings their tea, he stays and talks to Luna. And yet, he avoids Harry’s eyes as he takes the seat on her other side. “When are you going to adopt Merlin?”

Luna laughs, stroking the cat in question. “I don’t think that’s the question you should be asking. Cats are very wise, you know. I’m not sure he’s quite ready to go home with me – I think he needs a bit more time.”

Harry gets ready to defend Luna – he has no idea what she’s talking about, but he won’t stand for anyone, especially Malfoy, insulting his friends.

However, instead of saying something snarky or rude as expected, Malfoy just nods. “Hmm, well, maybe he’ll be ready soon.”

Merlin lets out a soft meow, seeming to agree with Malfoy’s assessment. Harry relaxes back into his seat, enjoying his tea immensely.

The shop door slams open and an enraged looking Millie storms through. “Draco Malfoy – get your sorry arse over here right now!”

Harry and Luna exchange a look as Malfoy scrambles up from his seat and hurries over to Millie, who’s now standing behind the counter.

“You asked me to cover you for lunch!”

“And?” Malfoy’s trying to look bored, but even he can’t seem to help but fear Millie.

“Matthew was waiting outside!”

“What do you mean,  _ was _ ?”

“I sent him away.” She turns and starts tidying the coffee machine, clearing believing the conversation to be over.

  


Malfoy has other ideas. “You can’t decide who I can and can’t have lunch with!”

“I can when it’s your abusive ex-boyfriend.”

Harry looks over at Luna – Malfoy has an ex- _ boy _ friend? – but she’s focusing all of her attention on Merlin, not on the fight in front of them.

Millie continues, “I was the one who took care of you the last time that fucker broke your heart – I’m not about to let him do it again!” She’s screaming now, and Harry’s glad for all their sakes that there aren’t more customers in the café.

Malfoy seems to deflate. “Yes, we all know how pathetic I was,” he drawls. “But this was just lunch.”

“Draco. It was never just going to be lunch. Maybe for him, but not for you.”

For a moment, it seems like he’s going to yell back, threaten her, punch her – do something, but instead, he grabs her hand and pulls her into a hug. Only then does Harry look away, the moment now seems too intimate to intrude on.

They stand to leave, trying to make a quick escape before any more yelling occurs. Millie turns to them as they reach the door.

“Neither of you heard anything.”

Harry isn’t about to cross her, after seeing her yell at Malfoy, so he and Luna both nod. Sure, he didn’t hear anything. They escape outside, and find the day to be surprisingly pleasant.

“Let’s walk for a bit, shall we? We’re not far from the Thames.”

Harry nods, walking quickly to keep up with Luna as she skips down the pavement. “Luna, did you know?”

“Did I know what? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Did you know Malfoy dates men?”

“Sure I did.” She says it casually, as if it’s not important, but Harry feels like everything in his world has shifted slightly. “Does it matter?”

Harry wants to say no, of course it doesn’t matter. Why would it matter that Malfoy likes fucking other men – or maybe being fucked by other men – sweaty, hot, moaning their names as he comes. Why should Harry care what Malfoy prefers?

He wants to say no, but he can’t. For some reason that he can’t yet explain, it really does matter.

“Can I ask you something else? Something personal?”

“Of course, Harry.”

They stop walking as they near the river, finding a nice bench in the shade and sitting down to rest for a moment. Harry runs his fingers through his hair, a habit of his when he’s nervous, and tries to find the right way to phrase his question.

“How did you know you were queer?”

Luna laughs. “I just knew. Even before I had the labels, I knew. When I thought about dating someone, their gender never really seemed to matter. I had such a crush on Neville before getting to know Ginny. And when I thought about sex, I knew that wasn’t something I needed in a relationship.”

He runs his fingers through his hair again, making the tips stand on end. “What if I’m queer?”

“What of it?” She makes it sound so simple. “Everyone accepted me when I came out. I’m sure our friends would do the same for you.”

Harry wishes he could be as certain as Luna is, but there’s a difference between “Loony Lovegood” coming out and the Saviour of the Wizarding World saying that maybe he wants to sleep with men. The Prophet would go wild.

“Is there someone specific who made you think you might not be straight?”

Harry nods, and thankfully, Luna doesn’t press. He doesn’t know how to explain that when he thinks of sex, or of dating, for the past couple weeks all he can think of is blond hair and grey eyes, with a lean body and a wicked grin.

That evening, he watches Ron and Hermione. He sees the way they touch each other so casually, the looks they throw at each other when they don’t think the other is watching.

He wants that with someone.

Ever since he was a child, more than anything, he wanted to be loved. For a while, he thought that would be Ginny. Childhood sweethearts, war heroes, married at the Burrow. He’d officially be a Weasley. He’d be an Auror, she’d play Quidditch and they’d have a couple kids, name them after people they’d lost. Sirius. Fred. Harry’s parents.

He can’t be queer. It’s fine for other people – for Ginny, for Luna, for Malfoy – but when he thinks of the possibility of himself being gay, all he can hear is Uncle Vernon talking about “poofters” and “bloody shirt-lifters.”

Lying in bed that night, listening to Luna’s soft breathing, their hands intertwined across the blankets, he lets himself cry, quietly. It’s a plea to the dark, to the stars. For once, he wants to be normal, average. He’s fought enough in his life.

* * *

In the morning, he opens his eyes on a new day, the sunlight shining through Sirius’ old curtains. Harry still doesn’t think of Grimmauld Place as his. It will always be Sirius’ house, always be the base for the Order of the Phoenix.

Harry thinks maybe that’s why he hasn’t redecorated, hasn’t made any drastic changes. It’s not his house in which to do so, and more than that, it would wipe away the memories of those he loves, those he still cares about. Even though the house-elf heads are down (which was mostly for Hermione’s benefit), the troll leg umbrella stand still sits by the front door. It reminds him of Tonks.

He leaves Luna, curled in a ball on the other side of the bed, and makes his way downstairs, only to find Hermione already there. She’s wearing an old Chudley Cannons shirt of Ron’s – it’s huge on her, but the orange doesn’t clash with her hair as it does Ron’s. She’s stirring a cup of tea for herself and a cup for Harry.

“Hey, there. Wasn’t sure when you’d be down.” She hands Harry the tea as he lets out a yawn.

“What’re you doing up so early?”

She takes a sip. “I thought you might like to talk.”

Hermione’s always known him better than he’s known himself, yet Harry can’t quite believe she’s figured out what’s going on now.

“Did Luna tell you?”

She shakes her head. “She didn’t have to. Ron and I had a bet starting in sixth year.”

“Sixth year!?”

Hermione laughs as she shrugs her shoulders. “I thought maybe all that animosity was from something other than hatred. Ron disagreed, if that makes you feel any better.”

It does, just a little bit. Good to know he can always count on Ron.

“I, Hermione, I can’t.”

“You can’t what? Be gay or like Malfoy?”

“I don’t think I’m gay. I mean, I really did care for Ginny. If anything, I’d be bi. But Hermione – I can’t. I can’t be queer, I can’t like…” Harry stops. He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but Hermione clearly knows who they’re discussing anyway.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.” He feels the tears welling up, feels the tightness in his chest as he tries not to cry.

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione stands and comes around the counter, wrapping her arms around Harry’s waist as the tears start to fall.

He hears the creaking of the floorboard as someone else enters the kitchen, and without a moment’s hesitation, Ron’s strong arms are wrapped around him too, his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“Mate, whatever’s wrong, we’re here.”

He takes gulping breaths of air, trying to breathe, to not panic. It’s the three of them against the world; it’s been that way since they were eleven. Harry doesn’t have the words to say what he’s feeling, but they know, and they’re still here; and for now, that’s enough.

Anxiety worms its way up through him, like shards of glass running through his lungs. He only ever wanted to be Harry. Not The Chosen One, not The Saviour, not the Boy Who Lived. Just Harry. And now, once again, he feels like his life is out of his control.

After calming down, Hermione shoves him up the stairs to take a shower. He puts the water as warm as he can stand it, letting it run in rivulets down his body, letting it clean him. Once washed, he goes back down, finding three of his housemates still in the kitchen.

“Hermione and I are headed to work, but let us know if you need anything, all right mate?”

Harry nods and waves goodbye to Ron and Hermione.

“Are you going back to the cat café today?” Luna pulls apart a piece of toast, her green jumper on inside-out and backwards, by the look of the tag sticking out the front. “I’m sure Draco would be glad to see you.”

Harry can’t help but let out a snort of laughter. “Malfoy doesn’t want to see me. But you know, I think I might go. Do you want to come, have a chance to see Merlin?”

“I don’t think you know Malfoy very well.” She smiles at Harry and takes a bite of toast. “I think I’ll stay here today; you go alone.”

And so he does. The trip is becoming exceedingly familiar, after several visits over the past few weeks. As he expected – though maybe to Luna’s surprise – Malfoy is anything but thrilled to see Harry. When Harry walks into the café, he’s greeted by one of Malfoy’s best scowls.

If anything, it makes him cheerier. Something about Malfoy’s consistency is reassuring in the face of Harry’s identity crisis. “Hello, there. Can I have a coffee, black?”

“Why the bloody hell are you here – why are you talking to me?”

“I just want coffee.”

“No, you don’t!” A slight blush colours Malfoy’s cheeks as he speaks. “You’ve never had any interest in me, and all of a sudden – after we haven’t seen each other in years – you just suddenly want to know what I’m doing?”

Harry’s dumbstruck by Malfoy’s outburst. He’s not wrong, and Harry knows it’s a little weird for him to keep coming back to the café, but since he first realised Malfoy worked there, he can’t stop. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s always been drawn to Malfoy – maybe not in a positive way, but their fights and their rivalry gave him something to focus on during school.

It might have even been a healthy rivalry, if they weren’t fighting on opposite sides of a literal war.

“You asked why I work at a cat café, Potter? It’s because I wanted to kill myself after the war. I failed at being good, I failed at being bad. My father was – still is – in prison and even though my mother is doing her damn best to make the Malfoy name hold some clout, no one cares.” His eyes are wide as he speaks, the words pouring out of him like floodwater. “No. One. Cared, Potter. If I lived or died, outside of my mother and a few select friends, including Millie. She asked if I would join her business venture.

“And why I’m co-owner? It’s because, Merlin-knows-why, I’m actually good at running a little shop. Now, why the hell are you here?”

“Luna wanted me to adopt a cat.”

“Why do you keep coming back?” Malfoy sounds genuinely confused.

“I haven’t gotten a cat yet.” Harry knows this isn’t what Malfoy’s asking, definitely not the answer he’s looking for, but at the same time, Harry doesn’t know how to answer the question Malfoy’s actually asking:  _ Why do you keep coming to see me? _

“Do you want to get lunch later?”

Now Malfoy looks angry. “Lunch?”

Harry didn’t actually mean to ask that; the words just spilled out. But it’s not the worst idea he’s ever had. “Yeah, lunch. With me.”

“No. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not interested. Besides, I work at a café. I don’t need to leave to go to lunch.”

“You were going to leave yesterday to get lunch.”

“I thought you didn’t hear anything.”

Harry shrugs. “Hard not to, what with all that yelling.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I was going to lunch with a  _ date _ . Unless you’re offering me sex, then it’s not the same thing.” His grin has turned feral, and Harry has to breathe slowly, trying to prevent his face was blushing.

He doesn’t think that’s what he’s offering.

Malfoy laughs, only slightly cruelly, and turns to finish making Harry’s drink. “On the house, if that’ll make you stop talking to me.”

Harry takes it and sits, finding comfort in his chair and in his cat, who quickly takes his place on Harry’s lap. With Beau purring, Harry manages to relax a bit. The coffee is strong and rich. His calm is quickly interrupted though.

“Potter?” Malfoy approaches slowly, his head tilted defiantly. “Sure. To lunch.”

Harry feels his eyes widen.

“Only, not today; I work until close. Millie’s in tomorrow though, so you can take me out then. Meet me here at noon, and don’t wear that.”

Malfoy walks away, and Harry looks down at his hoodie. It’s a little old, there’s a hole in the pocket and it’s now covered in cat fur, but it’s comfortable. He didn’t ask Malfoy to lunch in order to have his outfit criticized.

But to be fair, he doesn’t know exactly why he did ask Malfoy to lunch.

The afternoon is spent watching Malfoy work – watching him make drinks and interact with other customers and the cats. He smiles and jokes with some, probably the regulars, and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen Malfoy look so happy. At school, even if he was smiling, it was usually at the expense of someone else. He was cruel.

Now, he’s giving compliments, he’s loud and undefined by the things he was at school. Seeing him in the café, Harry thinks he understands why Malfoy has chosen to live in the muggle world. He doesn’t need to ask forgiveness; his tattoo isn’t recognized for the symbol of superiority that it is. Here, he isn’t a failed Death Eater, it’s just a twenty-three-year-old boy who wears jumpers and smiles at cats.

Here, he’s someone Harry can see himself falling for.

He’s anxious for the rest of the day, even after returning to Grimmauld Place. Fears keep swirling in his mind: Is tomorrow a date? What does Malfoy except?

After a night of very little sleep, he wakes and makes breakfast for his friends, finding the familiar routine to be soothing.

Once they’ve left for work, Luna off to document some species Hermione is sure doesn’t exist, Harry goes to his room and gets dressed. He pulls out his nicest Weasley jumper, a soft maroon with a Golden Snitch on the front and a pair of jeans without holes in the knees. It’ll have to be good enough for Malfoy. Even when the boy is wearing loose shirts, he still looks amazing, so it’s not like Harry has much hope in competing, but he thinks he at least looks okay.

He arrives at the café just before noon to find Malfoy waiting outside. He’s wearing trousers and a button-down with a cardigan and a scarf on top to protect against the cold weather.

“Well, at least your jumper doesn’t have a hole in it,” he drawls.

Harry pulls the sleeves over his hands, a habit of his when he’s nervous. He doesn’t know what to expect from this – it might be a horrible disaster, and Malfoy’s haughty attitude is only making him feel worse.

He tries to calm his nerves. “There’s a cute muggle place nearby, it’s called  _ The Witches Brew _ . Would you like to go there?”

Malfoy shrugs. “Sure.”

“I can side-along you, if you want?”

He shrugs again, but steps close to Harry. The smell of apples once again overwhelms Harry’s senses. He looks into Malfoy’s grey eyes, and it takes a moment for him to move, to grab Malfoy’s arm.

When he speaks, his voice comes out rough. “All right, hold onto me.”

Malfoy holds tight and Harry feels the warm of his body as he  _ Apparates  _ them.  _ The Witches Brew _ is a cute little café, similar to  _ The Magic Cat _ , only without the cats. There’s mismatched furniture and fairy lights, but everything is Halloween-themed. It’s a little spooky, but cosy and borderline intimate. They could be here just as mates, but it’s also a place one might take a date.

They order frozen hot chocolates, even though it’s freezing outside, and some vegetarian dishes the waiter raves about.

The silence is just becoming uncomfortable as Malfoy breaks it. “So, Potter, what do you do? When you’re not harassing me at my place of business, that is.”

Harry shrugs. “Nothing, really.”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “The Saviour? Just sits at home and does nothing all day? I would have thought that was beneath you.”

Harry doesn’t have much to say to that. When he was in school, he wouldn’t have thought he’d be aimless at this point in his life, but there’s nothing he can see himself doing.

“Thought the Aurors would be desperate to have you, Slayer of Dark Lords and all.”

Harry flinches. “I figured I’d had enough of that while at Hogwarts. I didn’t want to fight anymore,” he adds quietly.

The waiter interrupts, much to Harry’s relief, as he sets down their food. Harry didn’t ask Malfoy to lunch so they could reminisce about Voldemort. But it doesn’t take long for Harry to realize that every topic of conversation inevitably leads them back to Voldemort and the war, no matter how innocuous it seems.

“Do you like working at the café?”

It takes Malfoy a moment to answer. He looks contemplative before slowly nodding. “I do, actually. Father, even in Azkaban, has made it clear that shop wok, customer service, is beneath a Malfoy, but it’s not like anyone was rushing to hire me after I left Hogwarts. I may have been cleared of criminal charges, but that doesn’t mean the public agrees.”

“I’m sorry.”

Malfoy looks up, his gaze sharp. “Sorry for what? For defeating the Dark Lord? For saving my life? For keeping me out of Azkaban? Without you, I’d be rotting alongside my father. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry for the way people treat you. We were children during the war, it shouldn’t define the rest of our lives.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” Malfoy lets out a hollow laugh. “Even if you do, it’s not true. You and I, we’ll be defined by Voldemort until we die. You, with your scar, and me with the Mark.”

Harry has no retort for that, no response. That’s one of his fears, something he thinks about at night when the house is quiet. What if this was all he was meant to be?

“Thanks for that, Malfoy.” He tries to joke, tries to lighten the mood. “Glad I asked you out to lunch – I wasn’t depressed enough already.”

Malfoy snorts. “Yeah, I’m always good at being a downer.”

They share a soft smile. No one else understands like Malfoy does that the war is more than just a passing phase of Harry’s life. Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Luna, they’ve been able to grow and move on, but Harry feels stuck where he is, barely surviving in this post-war period.

“How are Weasley and Granger?”

“Good, actually. They’re still together. Hermione works at the Ministry – no surprise there – and Ron is helping his brother run the joke shop.”

Malfoy nods. “The twin.”

“Yeah, George. He needed some help after losing Fred, more than just running the shop. It’s been good for him to have Ron around. Ron and Hermione are actually living at Grimmauld Place with me.”

“You’re still at the old Black house?” Malfoy sounds surprised. “I went there a few times as a child – it’s a horrid place.”

Harry laughs and shrugs. “Sirius left it to me. It felt wrong to leave.”

“Your godfather. He and my mother were cousins, though I never met him. He was disowned before I came along.”

“He was my dad’s best friend.”

They sit in silence for a moment, neither sure what to say. It’s hard to forget that another member of the Black family killed Sirius, in a battle where Malfoy’s father was fighting against Harry and his friends.

Harry looks at the boy in front of him: Their lives are connected in the worst possible ways, and yet, he’s drawn to Malfoy. It feels as though, ever since they were eleven, there’s been a force between them, pushing and pulling. A rubber band that’s finally snapped tight.

“How are your friends?”

“Millie’s doing well, you’ve seen her at the shop. She and Greg are dating; they’re good for each other. Greg hasn’t been the same since Vince died.” Malfoy trails off, and Harry knows they’re both thinking of the Room of Requirement, the terror that set in when Crabbe couldn’t end the flames. Harry thought they were all going to die. He’s sure Malfoy did too.

“Pansy’s doing well enough. She’s had a bit of trouble being hired as well, after having been willing to hand you over to the Dark Lord and all, but she doesn’t take no as an answer. She’s working at  _ Witch Weekly _ now.”

Harry can’t help but smile. Somehow, that seems perfect for her.

“And Blaise is off travelling – every time I talk to him, it seems he’s in a new country.”

They finish their food, moving to lighter topics of conversation. Harry talks about some of the adventures The Golden Trio had at school. He tells Malfoy of the experiment with Polyjuice Potion in second year and how they got into the Slytherin common room – leaving out the details of who they looked like and why they needed in, of course.

Malfoy speaks of summers in France, travelling with his parents. He talks about meeting Parkinson and how she hated him upon first sight, only to become best friends after he saved her from getting in trouble with her father when they were kids. When he talks, he gestures broadly with his arms, making faces and becoming entirely animated. His drawl fades as he speaks faster and his eyes become bright. It’s quite endearing.

The waiter comes to take their empty plates and leaves them with the bill.

“Here, I got it.” Harry takes the bill and starts counting out muggle money.

Malfoy starts fidgeting in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Potter,” his voice is quiet, calculated. “What do you want, from me?”

Harry puts the bill down and looks at the boy in front of him. Malfoy’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. His aristocratic features, the way he carries himself; if he was a stranger, Harry would admire him from afar but never have the confidence to speak to him. More than that, Harry’s learning he has a wicked sense of humor, scathing and sarcastic, but funny. He likes animals, he works with muggles.  Harry wants to get to know him. In what way, Harry doesn’t know. He’s still fighting against the realization that he might be bisexual, and that means fighting every instinct in him that tells him he wants to hold hands with Malfoy, go on dates, kiss goodnight. What future could they possibly have though, when their past is filled with  _ Sectumpsempra _ and Fiendfyre?

“I don’t know.”

Malfoy nods, slowly. “You need to figure it out. I’m not going to let myself get hurt if you decide for some noble reason that you can’t spend time with a Death Eater.”

He stands to leave, but Harry can’t let him go, not yet. “Why did you say yes, then? To lunch?”

Malfoy’s gaze is level when he looks back. “Because I know what I want.” He walks away, leaving Harry confused at their table.

* * *

Harry spends much of the remaining afternoon walking aimlessly through London, Malfoy’s words running on loop through his head. When he gets home that evening, he doesn’t mention to anyone who he had lunch with. It seems easier to just not bring it up, less someone tries to make him explain what he’s feeling about the whole situation.  


He looks at his friends: Hermione, who will always have the word “mudblood” carved into her skin; Ron, his arms scarred from brains as he helped protect Harry and other D.A. members from Lucius in the Ministry; Luna, who was held in the Malfoy’s dungeon; and he thinks of Ginny, who was possessed by Voldemort for most of her first year at Hogwarts as a result of Lucius’ actions.  How would they feel – how would they react – if they knew he wanted to spend more time with Malfoy?

* * *

The weekend approaches slowly, as it tends to do, but Harry’s still surprised when it’s Friday evening and Ginny’s head appears in the Floo. Her energy is infectious, and Harry’s quickly in a better mood just from speaking with her. The Harpies have a match tomorrow, so she won’t be at Grimmauld Place until after, but she wanted to remind everyone at the house to come – as if they would have forgotten.

Saturday finds the four of them  _ Apparating  _ to Holyhead for Ginny’s match against the Falmouth Falcons. As the players enter, Luna’s already standing on her chair, cheering for Ginny. Ron’s face is red from yelling, and Hermione has even put her book away to watch Ginny fly for the snitch.

Sitting there, surrounded by his friends, Harry realises he feel more alone that he has in a long time. Of course he’s excited to see Ginny, but sitting in the crowd, surrounded by people and noise, makes him feel more lost than usual.

The Harpies are off to a bad start, and half an hour in, they’re down by almost a hundred points. It’s not long after that though that both seekers see a glint of gold. The opposing seekers dive for the snitch at the same time, but Ginny’s a bit nearer and has speed on her side. They go down, getting closer to each other and to the ground, farther and farther before the stands erupt and Ginny emerges, triumphant, clutching the winged ball.

“That’s my sister!”

“That’s my girlfriend!”

Hermione laughs, grabbing onto Ron and Harry and leading them to the pitch. Luna rushes past them, dirty blonde hair streaming behind her as she launches herself at Ginny for a hug. Ginny staggers back and pulls her into a quick kiss.

“We need to celebrate!”

“Leaky?”

And so it’s decided. After a quick change at Grimmauld Place, the five of them Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and grab a table. Ron buys the first round – he’s always extremely proud of Ginny when she plays, whether or not she wins. The night quickly becomes one of reminiscing, stories of Hogwarts and magic.

“I still believe you got an invisibility cloak, mate! Remember when you scared the Slytherins outside the Shrieking Shack?” Ron’s in tears, he’s laughing so hard. “They had no idea what hit them.”

“I did get in trouble after that, you know.”

Ron shrugs. “The price you have to pay.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “School was about more than just pranks.”

“Yeah, like starting S.P.E.W. I think all three of the members are sitting around this table, right ‘Mione?”

She turns away from Harry. “I’m going to get another round of drinks, if you all stop acting like children.”

Luna, with her head resting on Ginny’s shoulder, chimes in. “Acting like children can actually be quite good for one’s brain. It allows you to see things differently.”

Ginny smiles down at her, her freckled hand playing with Luna’s hair. After a few more rounds, Harry’s feeling pleasantly buzzed. Everything’s a little blurry, a little fuzzy, and he’s feeling good. Luna’s leaning even more on Ginny and Ron is being supported by Hermione.

Harry sees a flash of blond hair at the bar.

“I’ll grab us another round, yeah?” He waits a moment to see half-hearted nods and makes his way to the bar, pressing himself next to the boy at the counter.

The blond turns, and as Harry suspected, he’s left staring into Malfoy’s grey eyes. “Potter?”

“Malfoy, good to see you.” Is it? “What are you up to?”

Malfoy holds up his bottle. “Having a drink. Same as you, I’m assuming.”

“We’re just celebrating Ginny’s win with the Harpies today.”

“Yes, loath as I am to compliment a Gryffindor, Ginevra has always been a talented Quidditch player.”

Harry orders drinks and is at a loss of what to say next to Malfoy. They’re so close, he feels Malfoy’s arm pressing into his chest and the touch is electric – it sets Harry on end.

“You can come sit with us, if you’d like? Luna’s here too.”

Malfoy lets out a snort of laughter. “Yes, like your Gryffindor friends really want me to sit with them.”

Harry doesn’t point out that Luna’s a Ravenclaw. He knows who Malfoy means. “I want you to come.” He looks into Malfoy’s grey eyes. They’re more of the palest blue tonight, maybe a trick of the light. Harry takes a step forward, effectively closing any gap between them. “I want you.”

He puts his hand out, lightly resting it on Malfoy’s hip.

“What are you doing, Potter?” Harry sees his eyes narrow, his look turn calculating.

Harry’s too drunk to make up an answer, or even to say the complicated truth. So he goes with the only answer he knows is true and simple: “I don’t know.”

Malfoy steps back, a look of hurt flashing across his face before he schools his features into a haughty scowl. “As I told you at lunch: Maybe you should figure it out. I can’t do this if you aren’t sure what you want.” He throws down a pile of sickles and leaves the bar.

Tom brings over the ordered round of drinks as Harry stands by the bar for a moment, collecting his thoughts before he approaches the table. He’s grateful that his friends are all drunker than he is, as they seem entirely oblivious to his exchange with Malfoy at the bar – which is the most he can hope for in the moment.

Hermione eyes him over the top of her glass, and he thinks he may have been wrong, but she doesn’t say anything about it. That is, not until the next morning. She confronts him as she’s been doing as of late, waking up early before he comes down to cook breakfast. The nightmares were bad last night, dreams of the Forbidden Forest and Fiendfyre, fingers slipping on brooms and thorns tangling around his feet. He’d snuck in bed with Ron and Hermione, and knew when he woke and she was already gone what was waiting for him in the kitchen.

“Morning, Harry.”

He walks over and kisses the top of her head. “Morning, ‘Mione.”

“Didn’t look like it went too well with Malfoy last night.”

Harry lets out a snort as Hermione passes him a cup of tea. “That’s probably an understatement. He’s not interested in me.” Harry recounts their lunch, as well as the brief conversation last night.

She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t say that. It seems like he wants to know where he stands with you. Like it or not, you’re the face of the survivors, the heroes. You’re the Saviour, Harry. And whether you think so or not, the public has branded Malfoy as a Death Eater. I never see him in wizarding areas, besides the bar last night. He has more to lose if anything happens between you two and it goes wrong.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I know that. But does he? I’m not trying to defend him, or justify his behavior from school, but he offered you his hand in friendship and you rejected him.” Harry opens his mouth to retort, but Hermione continues before he can. “Just think about it, okay? I’m going to get dressed, I’ll be back in a bit.”

Harry nods, and pulls out the ingredients for pancakes. He’ll make it a good day yet.

* * *

Several days have passed since the incident at the bar when Harry next makes his way to the cat café. He goes for two reasons: he needs to talk to Malfoy, and he’s decided to adopt Beau. The cat is always such a welcoming presence when he goes to the café, and Luna’s right, he is quite lonely when he’s in Grimmauld Place all by himself.  


Malfoy is behind the counter when Harry opens the door, but after one scathing look, he disappears into the back room. Moments later, Millie appears, dusting Floo powder off her jumper.

“Harry, how are you?”

“Fine, thanks. Not to be rude, but I was hoping to speak to Malfoy.”

“Draco’s not in today, sorry. He’s visiting his mother.” She gives him a tight smile.

Harry’s feeling desperate, anxiety clawing up his throat. “Millie, I just saw him.”

“You must be mistaken.” Her tone brooks no argument.

“Fine,” Harry snaps. “Can you take a message for him?”

She nods.

“Just tell him I’m sorry. And I really did have a nice time at lunch.”

“I’ll let him know.” Her voice becomes soft, and she gives Harry a look. “Whatever you said, or did, you need to fix it. You were here when his ex was outside, yeah? He’s been hurt before. And now, whatever happened, you’ve upset him.” Her voice grows possessive, slightly threatening. “He’s my friend, and I won’t stand by and let anyone hurt him.”

“I know – I didn’t mean to, but I know.” It’s the truth. He might not know where exactly he and Malfoy stand with each other, but he knows he hurt the other boy. “I also stopped by because I want to adopt Beau, if I’m able.”

Millie beams at him, all traces of their previous discussion forgotten. “Of course!”

Over the next hour or so, Harry signs all of the necessary adoption papers and answers all of Millie’s invasive questions about his life before she takes him over to Beau. The yellow tabby starts purring immediately upon seeing Harry, and butts his hand up against Harry’s hand. Harry strokes him and Beau shamelessly rubs up against him, asking for more attention.

“Hey, Beau,” Harry whispers. “I’m going to take you home with me, what do you think of that?” Beau meows, and Harry laughs. “I’ll take that as ecstatic yes then, yeah?”

“Here’s a crate; you can take the Floo in the back – it’ll make it easier to transport him back to yours. And here’s a packet of information, read through it and let us know if you have any questions.”

Harry nods, feeling slightly overwhelmed. He’s excited, thrilled, but there’s a lot to do and a lot to remember. But he feels a bit calmer as he looks down into Beau’s grey eyes.

They’ll figure it out, together.

* * *

The quiet of Grimmauld Place is broken by a meowing cat. For the third day in a row. Harry was wrong; he was so incredibly wrong.  


“Why did I listen to Luna?” He moans.

No one has slept since Harry brought Beau home. The cat doesn’t purr, doesn’t sleep, just meows day and night. All corners of the house have become Beau’s domain. He wanders through the kitchen, up to the drawing room, through the bedrooms, meowing the whole while. It’s as if he misses the café; maybe misses Malfoy.

Or maybe that’s just Harry.

“Mate,” Ron says, over Beau’s incessant meowing. “We’re headed to Ginny’s match – good luck with that bloody cat.” He drops his voice a notch, as to not be overheard by Hermione. “He’s worse than Crookshanks.”

“You should have listened to him, Harry,” Luna says. “Clearly he wasn’t ready to go home with you.”

Harry can’t help but roll his eyes. “You’re the one who talked me into getting a cat!”

Luna just shrugs, eyeing Beau as he starts kneading Harry’s best Weasley jumper, the one he wore to lunch with Malfoy. “He’s missing something, you only need to figure out what that is.”

They leave, the Floo turning green as they take turns throwing in powder and travelling to the match.

As soon as they leave, Harry does what he knows he needs to: He admits defeat and fire-calls Malfoy.

“Malfoy? Are you there?”

“Potter?” Malfoy’s head appears in the flames, his hair wet and his shirt only half buttoned. “What the hell do you want? And how do you have my Floo?”

“Millie gave it to me, after I adopted Beau. She told me to call if I had any questions.”

“Well, that explains the meowing in the background. But still, why are you calling me?”

“Malfoy, Draco, please. I don’t know what to do – Beau  _ won’t stop _ meowing. It’s driving me crazy.”

It might be the use of his first name, but Malfoy relents. He sounds put out, but he nods. “Fine. I’ll be through in a minute, okay?”

“Thank you. Really, thank you Malfoy.”

True to his word, it only takes Malfoy a minute before he’s stepping through the Floo. His hair must have been dried and styled with a charm, as it looks as perfect as ever, and he’s finished getting dressed, much to Harry’s disappointment.

Beau immediately runs to Malfoy and starts purring; his horrible behavior of the past several days already seems forgotten. Harry stands in the sitting room, shocked still by the sudden change in his cat.

Malfoy smirks. “I don’t see a problem. Clearly Beau has good taste.” He leans down and speaks to Beau. “ _ Oui, quel chat intelligent; quel beau chat. Tu es tellement bon, n'est-ce pas _ ?”

Beau appears to preen under the attention, and Harry can’t help but feel a flare of jealousy.

“He’s been meowing for  _ three days _ .”

“Sure, Potter. I can tell.” Malfoy looks down meaningfully, indicating the quiet, docile, purring cat by his feet.

Harry runs his fingers through his hair. “Maybe he just wanted to see you. Maybe he wasn’t ready to leave the café.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Luna.

He laughs. “You’re probably right. Doesn’t mean she’s wrong though.”

They stand in silence for a moment. “Can I offer you anything?” Now that Malfoy’s here, Harry doesn’t want him to go. “Tea? Something stronger?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Harry goes to the kitchen and brings back a couple of beers. He pops the caps with magic and they clink the glasses before they drink. One turns into two, two becomes three, and before either of them know it, they’re sitting on the couch, legs touching and Beau lounging between them.

“I couldn’t place it at first, you know?”

“Sure,” Malfoy nods. “Wait, no, I don’t know.” He laughs, his head thrown back. “What?”

“Beau’s eyes. They’re grey, with a hint of blue, just like yours. Like a raincloud, grey and heavy. Beautiful.”

Malfoy flushes and looks away. “I named him. He showed up at the shop and wouldn’t leave. His eyes reminded me of the old stone buildings in France. Beau was thin and tired, he looked old and well-travelled when he arrived.”

“He’s a good cat.”

“Yeah. He’s lucky to have you to take care of him.” Malfoy reaches out and pets Beau between his ears, his hand lightly brushing Harry’s in the process.

The touch is electric.

“Malfoy –”

“No, Potter. Not tonight. We’ve both had too much to drink to even have this discussion.”

“What do you want?”

“You, Potter. I’ve always wanted you.” He smiles ruefully. “That doesn’t mean it’s possible.”

They stare at each other for a moment before Malfoy stands. “I should leave.” Beau starts meowing mournfully.

“Please, spend the night here – I can’t take any more of his meowing.”

Harry can see Malfoy hesitate. “I have plenty of rooms, you can take your pick. Or sleep on the couch. And only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

“Not trying to pressure me into anything?”

“Of course not, I would never.”

Malfoy nods. “Sure, fine, show me an empty room.”

Harry smiles. “Brilliant, thank you so much.” He leads Malfoy upstairs and down the hall to Regulus’ room, which is close to his own. He wonders if Malfoy sees the irony of the choice.

He leaves Malfoy to change into a spare pair of Harry’s pyjamas, retreating into Sirius’ room to sleep. The light of the stars brightens his room, and as he falls asleep, he can’t help but think of the blond a few doors down.

* * *

When Harry wakes, there’s a hand on his shoulder and a soothing voice near his ear.

“Shh, it’s okay, Harry. I’m here. I’m here, just breathe. It was only a nightmare.”

Harry’s chest gradually stops heaving as his breathing slows. He still feels completely disoriented, but it helps when the mystery voice helps him sit up and puts on his glasses. He blinks a few times and Malfoy comes into view.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Harry says, a bit sheepish.

Malfoy shakes his head. “It’s fine. We all get nightmares.”

Harry fidgets with his blankets. “Thank you. But you might want to leave.”

Malfoy looks indignant.

“I – not that I want you to. But I have nightmares every night, and they’re especially bad if I’m alone. I usually share a bed with someone else.”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow.

“Not like that.” Harry tries to laugh. “Hermione will pull me in to share with her and Ron, or when Ginny’s gone, Luna will sleep in my room. It just helps.”

Instead of leaving as Harry expects, Malfoy stands and pulls the blankets down on the other side of the bed. “Well, I’m too tired to Floo home – and still a little drunk – and I’m not about to listen to you scream all night.” He climbs in, his long legs tucking themselves under Harry’s comforter.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, as long as you’re okay with it.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good. Now go to sleep.” Malfoy’s voice is both soft and commanding.

Harry’s heart is racing as he lays next to Malfoy. He tries to slow his breathing, tries to fall asleep, but he’s hyper-aware of every movement Malfoy makes. Every shift Malfoy makes is distracting and Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever drift off, but listening to Malfoy’s soft breathing, he somehow does.  Sleep comes to claim him, and he lets it.

The nightmares don’t return, and he sleeps more peacefully than he has in ages. In the morning, he drifts between sleep and consciousness, not fully aware of his surroundings, but enough to know how comfortable he is. Harry breathes in deeply, the smell of apples wrapping itself around him.

When the last vestiges of sleep leave him and he wakes to the morning sunlight streaming in through the curtains, Harry wakes to blond hair and a body intertwined with his own. It takes a moment for him to remember – he has  _ Malfoy  _ sleeping in his bed. Malfoy, whose hair is mussed from sleep, whose pale skin goes on for miles underneath Harry’s sleep clothes.

Malfoy, whose shoulder Harry is nuzzled into, whose legs are tangled in Harry’s own.

Harry stiffens, then tries to separate himself from Malfoy without waking the other boy up, but to no avail. He’s greeted by a soft smile and a large yawn.

“Morning, Harry. Sleep all right?”

“Better once you came in.” They’re lying next to each other, both on their side, looking into the other’s eyes.

A loud yowl startles them both, and Beau quickly jumps in bed and takes his spot between their heads on the pillow. Harry takes that as his cue to get up and get ready for the day. He doesn’t hear anyone in the house yet, but it probably won’t be long before everyone else is awake. Malfoy seems to think the same, as he stands as well.

He returns to Regulus’ room and returns a few minutes later, dressed in his outfit from last night. His clothes are a little crooked, a little wrinkled, but he still looks wonderful.

“I hope I didn’t take you away from anything important last night.”

“Not at all, Potter.”

“I can show you the Floo?”

Malfoy nods, and Harry brings him back downstairs. There are quiet voices in the kitchen – where they unfortunately have to walk through – and when they enter, all four of Harry’s housemates stop speaking and stare at the pair of them. Malfoy blushes, a trail of red going from his cheeks down his neck. Harry wonders how much farther it extends. He feels his cheeks warm, though not as obviously as Malfoy’s, with his pale skin.

Harry does his best to ignore his housemates and brings Malfoy to the Floo.

“I’ll see you around then?”

“You’ll continue stalking me at work, won’t you?” Malfoy smiles as he takes a fist-full of Floo powder and is whisked away through the flames.

Harry walks back into the kitchen, the sensation not unlike walking to his death in the Forbidden Forest.

“Had a nice night, then?” Ginny leers at him.

Ron makes a gagging noise. “I don’t need any of the details, all right? I don’t want to hear about any of your sex lives.” He gives Ginny and Harry pointed stares. “Not when you were together, and not now that you’re seeing other people.”

“We didn’t have sex! He came over to help with Beau – did any of you even notice he stopped meowing?”

Hermione gives him a knowing look. “You didn’t have sex, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t want to.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I need new friends.”

Ginny laughs. “Nah, no one else would put up with you and all your drama.”

He can’t help but smile. She’s probably right, it’s not like he’s ever been ordinary or necessarily easy-going. “I could kick you all out, you know,” he says, as he heads towards the stairs. “You all live here for free!”

Ron hits him in the head with a piece of toast as he runs back up to his room. His friends know it’s an empty threat; he’d never make them leave. Honestly, if any of them asked to move out, he’d probably beg for them to stay.

At least he has Beau now, to fill some of the quiet hours. Maybe next he’ll get a job. Or at least try to get out of the house more. There’s a problem with that though – the one place he was continually going to visit is  _ The Magic Cat _ . Now that he has a cat, he doesn’t really have a reason to go back.

The thought pains him, for a reason he’s starting to figure out.

It takes several days before he sees or hears anything from Malfoy. But on a dreary Friday evening, Harry’s home alone with Beau when there’s a knock on the door. Harry gets up and ambles to the front hallway, opening to door to find Malfoy standing on the porch.

“I brought Beau his favourite toy – Millie must have forgotten to give it to you when you took him home.” He holds out a blue and green stuffed fish that smells like catnip. “It’s always been Beau’s favorite.” Malfoy fidgets, looking uncertain as he stands there, the wind gently ruffling his hair.

“Do you want to come in and give it to him?”

He nods and steps inside, wrinkling his nose at the troll leg umbrella stand. Harry can’t even be offended, he hates the damn thing. It’s horrendous and he knows it.

“You took the portrait down – I didn’t realize last time I was here.”

“Yeah, it took a lot of work, but she had to go.”

Malfoy cracks a grin, his eyes mischievous. “I would have loved to hear her as she was coming down. Nasty old woman. I only met her a few times, but she hated me. Thought I was too spoiled for a child.”

“She was probably right.”

“Are you, fighter for muggle-borns, agreeing with Walburga Black, a known blood-purist?”

Harry shudders and grins back at Malfoy. “No, that can’t be. You’re right then, of course; you were a perfectly respectable child.”

“As I thought.”

“Last I saw Beau, he was upstairs on my bed.”

“All right.”

Harry leads Malfoy upstairs, into the bedroom. He feels the tension growing as they move, but he doesn’t know how to dissipate it. He likes Malfoy, and he thinks Malfoy likes him too, but he can’t be sure. There’s so much between them, a chasm of animosity and hatred, and he doesn’t know how to close it.

But when he turns and sees the heat, the overwhelming lust in Malfoy’s eyes, he realizes that they can cross it together.

“Potter, I … Can I kiss you?”

Harry lets out a groan and nods vigorously.

“Yes?” Malfoy takes a step closer, putting his hand on Harry’s hip.

“Yes.” Harry closes the gap between them, his lips connecting with Malfoy’s. The kiss is beautiful, wonderful, more so than Harry ever expected. He’s been wanting to kiss Malfoy ever since that first day he saw him in the cat café, but he didn’t think it would be like this.

Malfoy’s lips are smooth, and as Harry moves his hand up the back of Malfoy’s neck and into his hair, he’s overwhelmed by the softness. They part after a minute, both breathing hard.

Harry can’t stop the smile from spreading over his face. “That was brilliant. You’re brilliant.”

Malfoy smiles back. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“We need to talk about what we’re doing, before this goes any further.” It hurts for Harry to take a step back, but he needs to. Having Malfoy that close – within kissing distance – is doing nothing to help him think straight. “I don’t want any confusion; I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Malfoy takes a deep breath. “All right.” He takes a seat on Harry’s bed, his long legs crossed in front of him.

“Okay. What do you want?”

“Exclusivity. I don’t share. We don’t have to go all romantic and call each other boyfriends, but I don’t want to be someone you fire-call when you’re drunk and feeling randy.”

Harry nods. That’s easy.

“Is there anything I should be aware of that you don’t like?”

Malfoy looks away, before bringing his eyes back to Harry. “My ex was ashamed of me – I was nothing more than a Death Eater, a dirty secret for him to fuck behind closed doors. At the time, I thought it was all I deserved. I’m fine with dirty talk, but nothing degrading.”

Malfoy is brilliant and gorgeous, Harry has no desire to say anything negative to him, especially during sex. Hearing that about Malfoy’s ex, Harry feels himself growing angry. “That’s not what you deserve. He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“I never said no; I didn’t tell him I didn’t like it. I needed someone and he was the only one there.”

“Not saying no doesn’t mean yes.”

“Aren’t you a good feminist?” Malfoy smirks at Harry, trying to lighten the mood.

“Consent shouldn’t be a feminist idea.”

Malfoy nods, growing serious again. “Potter, I know. I’m sorry, I was only trying to make a joke. You can’t change what happened in my past, but I’m here now, with you, and we’re having this conversation. Now tell me, anything I should know for you?”

Harry looks away; he hates speaking about his childhood. He’s almost ashamed of how it still affects so many aspects of his life. “I spent most of my childhood in a cupboard. I don’t like losing control. I don’t like being tied up or restricted in any way.”

Malfoy looks surprised, but he quickly schools his features. “Sure. There’s something else you should know.”

“Okay.”

Malfoy stands and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Pale skin is revealed, inch by inch, and Harry starts to panic as he realizes what Malfoy is showing him. Harry steps closer, and once the buttons are all undone, he slowly slides the shirt off of Malfoy’s shoulders.

Thick, ropy scars spread like tree branches across Malfoy’s torso. There’s a sharp intake of breath in an otherwise silent room, and Harry reach his hand out, slowly inching towards the longest scar.

“May I?” He whispers it, glancing up to Malfoy for permission.

The blond nods, he face turned away from Harry’s gaze. “I’m not upset, you know. But I wanted you to see now, before we’re half-dressed and this becomes a mood killer.”

Harry runs his thumb across the scars, one by one. Malfoy’s breath hitches as Harry’s thumb runs across his nipple, down to his hip bone. The scar disappears into Malfoy’s pants, and Harry wonders how much farther down it goes.

“Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey did their best, but there wasn’t enough dittany to heal the wounds.”

Harry leans down, slowly kissing the raised skin and he feels Malfoy shudder beneath him.

“It became a reminder to me. A reminder that I was still alive, that I was still human,” Malfoy says, speaking softly. “At the time, I didn’t feel like I was. I had lost myself, and you reminded me that I was still there.”

“I could have killed you, you don’t get to turn that into something romantic.”

“You didn’t though. And I did enough shit to you over the years, we can call it even.”

Harry looks up at the gorgeous boy in front of him. “No, this isn’t even.”

“Potter, Harry, listen to me. I deserved everything I got. But I’m alive, my mother is alive, Pansy and Blaise and Millie and Greg are all alive. I did what I thought I had to. That doesn’t make me strong; that makes me weak. I wasn’t able to see a better option.

“But I lived. We both did. And for that, I’ll take any scars I’m given.”

Harry has no words for that, so instead he pulls Malfoy into bed with him, where he continues to run his fingers through Malfoy’s scars. There’s nothing romantic about it, and it does kill the mood for anything sexual, but that night, they establish a sort of intimacy which is hard to come by.

In the morning, they wake slowly. Harry’s content to just lay next to Malfoy for hours, gently running his fingers down the other boy’s side. Malfoy yawns widely when he starts to come to consciousness, stretching out his long limbs like a cat. Beau is on the pillow by their heads, and Harry is altogether happier than he has been in a long time.

“Do you want to come down for breakfast?”

“Won’t your friends be there?”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah. So? I’m not ashamed of you.”

Malfoy blushes, and Harry finally has the joy of seeing just how far down it actually extends.

Harry grabs Malfoy’s hand as they descend down the stairs, pleased when Malfoy squeezes back.  “I feel like I’m walking into a dean of lions,” he whispers.

Harry laughs. “Luna’s a Ravenclaw, you know. And she likes you.”

Malfoy smirks. “Well, she has good taste.”

As expected, Harry’s friends are all sitting in the kitchen, pretending they’re not waiting for Harry and Malfoy to come down. Hermione has her head in a book, only her bushy black hair visible, but Harry can see even she’s taking glances at the scene in front of her.

Luna jumps up from her place at Ginny’s side and skips over to give Malfoy a hug. “So glad you and Harry finally figured it out.”

Ron’s the next to speak. “If Harry likes you, then you can’t be all bad.” He holds out his hand for Malfoy to shake, which after a moment, he does. “Just try not to prove me wrong.” They stay like that for a moment, and some sort of mutual understanding seems to reach them.

The rest of breakfast is uneventful, and before long, people start heading off for the day. Ron’s going in to the shop to help George, as Saturdays are one of the busiest days, and Ginny and Luna are going to see a colony of nifflers.

Malfoy gives Harry a quick kiss on the cheek before heading to the Floo. “The cats are waiting for me, Potter.” The Floo flares green and Harry is left with Hermione.

“I take it you figured out what you want?” She sets her book down on the counter, all of her attention focused on Harry.

“I want him, however he’ll take me. He’s brilliant, Hermione. Smart and funny, and kind in a way he doesn’t always let the world see.”

She smiles at him. “I’m so happy for you, Harry.”

“We all did things in the war we regret, at least, I know I do. I can’t hold all of that against him. And if all of you are willing to forgive him and move on, then I need to be too.”

“If he didn’t regret it, he wouldn’t be here. Willing to come into the kitchen with me, a mudblood, or shake hands with a Weasley. He’s changed.”

“I know,” Harry says. “I know.”

* * *

Harry manages to wait all of two hours being  _ Apparating _ to the cat café to see Draco – and yes, he’s  _ Draco  _ now. Somewhere between kissing his scars and watching him shakes hands with Ron, Harry realized that he’s Draco, not Malfoy. The bell rings above the door and the blond glances up, surprise written all over his face at the sight of Harry.  


“I realized that we didn’t make plans to see each other again.”

Draco laughs at him. “Okay.”

“So I came here, to ask if you’d like to have dinner tonight?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” A smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, more like ‘in’ on a date. Come to mine and I’ll cook.”

“Okay. I’ll come at seven?” Harry nods in response. “Now if you aren’t going to buy anything, get out of my shop.”

Harry laughs. “I’ll see you at seven.”

He leaves and heads home. Tonight’s going to be special. Harry wants to touch Draco, learn what he likes and what makes him feel good.

The afternoon rushes by as Harry cleans Grimmauld Place (as much as he can, in a house that old and cursed), and makes dinner for the two of them. Seven approaches and Harry’s just setting the table when the bell rings.

The door opens to reveal Draco, standing there in a nice shirt and trousers, so different than the jumpers he wears while at work. His nails are still painted though, a chipped green colour, reminding Harry that he’s a combination of all his pieces: he’s a posh pure-blood, and yet he loves cats and reading trashy magazines. Harry’s breath is taken away by the sight of him. Draco holds out a bottle of wine, and their hands brush against each other as Harry takes it.

He realizes he can’t wait; he wants Draco now.

The other boy is barely inside with the door shutting behind him before Harry’s crowded him up against the wall.

“I have dinner under a  _ Stasis _ charm, if you want to come upstairs first?”

Draco groans and pulls Harry closer against him, touching from chest to thighs. “I’d like that quite a bit.”

They make their way upstairs, stopping every few steps to grope and kiss. When they arrive in the bedroom, Harry shuts the door with wandless magic and Draco’s breath catches.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Harry can’t help but laugh and he moves forward, closing the distance between them once more. He puts his hands on Malfoy’s buttons. “May I undo these?”

Draco nods, spreading his arms to give Harry access. Harry manages to get half the shirt open before he gives up and pulls it over Draco’s head. As he did last night, Harry runs his fingers over Draco’s scars, followed by his lips.

“I’m going to make you feel so good tonight.”

Draco smiles, his grin feral as he reaches out to take the bottom of Harry’s jumper. “You have too many clothes on.”

Harry agrees enthusiastically, and quickly strips, leaving his chest bare. They take a moment to look at each other before kissing once more. Draco takes control this time, biting Harry’s bottom lip until Harry opens his mouth, allowing for access. Their tongues slip together; Harry never knew kissing could be this all-consuming. He would be happy to kiss Draco for days.

All too soon, Draco pulls back, but soon makes up for it as he peppers little kisses across Harry’s nose and cheeks, before moving lower and sucking on his neck. Harry lets out a moan, surprising himself with the volume and intensity of the noise.

They fall into bed together, and Harry ends up straddling Draco, his knees on either side of the blond’s thighs. “Draco,” he says, pulling back slightly. “I want to suck you. I want to feel your cock in my mouth, learn what you taste like.” He punctuates his words with slow kisses.

Draco nods. “Yes, yes. I want that.” He brings his hips up against Harry, their erections grinding together.

Harry moves down the bed, kissing across Draco’s chest as he does so.

“I’ve never done this before, okay? So tell me what you like.”

Draco nods. “Yes, Harry, that’s fine. I want to do this all with you.”

He mouths as Draco’s groin, leaving a wet patch against the fabric before he opens Draco’s trousers, slowly sliding them down Draco’s hips. Harry takes a moment, then pulls Draco’s pants down, exposing his cock and his balls. Draco’s cock is gorgeous, long and thin like him. Harry kisses the tip and licks a stripe up the base before taking him in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and trying not to choke. He can feel Malfoy’s pubic hair against his nose, slightly coarse, and his mouth is filled with Draco’s taste. He’s slightly bitter, salty and musky, but Harry loves the sensation.

“Yes, like that! Nggh, Harry, yes.” Draco moves his hand to Harry’s head, tangling his fingers in the inky black strands.

He brings Draco to the brink, makes him cry out in pleasure, before coming off with a pop. “I want to ride you.”

Draco’s hair is sticking up, his chest covered in a light sheen of sweat. He looks absolutely edible. “Yeah?”

Harry smiles down at him, at the boy underneath him. All the fights in the past, all the trouble they got into, it’s led them to this moment and Harry couldn’t be happier.

“Do you have lube?”

Harry nods, and does a wandless summoning charm, grinning down at Malfoy as he does so.

Draco takes the lube from him. “I want to prepare you, okay?”

Harry nods. “Yes.”

Malfoy takes it and coats his fingers, before reaching behind Harry and sliding them up and down between Harry’s arse cheeks. His other hand is on Harry’s neck, and he brings him down for a kiss, distracting Harry as one finger slips inside. “Okay?” He murmurs, his grey eyes searching Harry’s green, making sure he’s all right.

“Yes, Draco.”

He adds another finger, the lube making the tight stretch almost bearable. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a strange intrusion into his body, and Harry takes a moment to adjust before his breathing evens out. With the third finger, Draco hits his prostate and Harry lets out a mewling cry.

“Yes, Godric, yes Draco.” Harry’s harder than he’s ever been, and he needs Draco in him, now. “Please, I’m ready, you’re so good. I need you in me.” The words are pouring out of his mouth. Harry wants Draco to know how special he is, how good he is.

Draco removes his fingers and Harry feels so empty, immediately missing the intrusion. But it’s only a moment before Draco lines his cock up to Harry’s hole and pushes inside. Harry’s knees are on either side of Draco’s hips, his hands resting on Draco’s shoulders. He knows he’s gripping hard enough to bruise the other boy, but he can’t stop, not when Draco hits that spot inside of him, sending white hot flashes of pleasure through him.

Draco stops moving when Harry’s fully seated. They’re both breathing hard, and Draco takes a moment to look up at Harry through his lashes. “You good?”

“Yes, so good. Move, please, move.”

Draco nods and starts to thrust. It doesn’t take long for them to establish a rhythm, the smell of sweat and sex filling the room, alongside the obscene noises of skin slapping skin as their bodies undulate against each other. Harry bends down, bringing his mouth close to Draco’s. He wants to kiss him, connect their bodies in one more location, but he’s too focused on his own breathing to kiss properly.

Harry feels his orgasm building up inside him, the pressure threatening to escape. “I’m close, Draco. So close.”

“Come for me, Harry.”

It’s all too much and Harry does, coming streaks of white against Draco’s chest, covering the scars raised against Draco’s pale skin. Draco follows soon after, his face scrunching up as he comes deep in Harry.

They lay next to each other on the bed, hands and legs intertwined as their breathing slows.

“You good, Harry?”

“Yeah; that was bloody perfect.” Harry can’t help but to smile up at the ceiling. “You?”

“Better than I imagined.”

The silence stretches on, though not uncomfortable. Harry waves his hand over both of them, cleaning off their drying spunk.

“Can I ask you something?

“Sure, Harry.”

Harry preens, thankful that the use of his given name wasn’t just in the throes of sex. “How long have you wanted this?”

Draco stiffens beside him. “Honestly? Since the Manor, when I was asked to identify you.”

Harry looks over at the blond, studying his face. They have so much history between some, sometimes it feels suffocating. “You knew it was me?” It’s a question he’s always wondered the answer to.

Draco nods. “Of course,” he whispers. “Your eyes gave you away.”

Harry kisses him. Light kisses, all across his face and chest. “You’re beautiful, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life. I knew what I wanted since I saw you at the cat café – but really, I’ve probably wanted you since sixth year. Apparently Ron and Hermione had a bet going.”

Draco lets out a loud laugh at that. “First, no speaking of other Gryffindors when we’re naked in bed together. Second, I’m glad to hear I wasn’t the only one pining after the impossible.”

“Not so impossible now, is it?”

They lay in bed for a bit longer, until Draco’s stomach starts to grumble.

“Ready for the dinner I cooked?”

They throw on some clothes and head downstairs, both tired and affectionate in their post-orgasm state. The table is still set, the charm having held, and Harry and Draco sit down to eat together. Harry pours the wine that Draco bought, a perfect pairing with his pasta dish.

“To us.” They toast, the clink of their glasses signaling a new start, a new beginning.

Beau comes into the kitchen, taking his place between their feet, purring loudly and playing with the toy fish. Harry looks at the Draco and Beau, thinks about his house and his friends, and he’s content.

The war will always be a part of him, but he won’t let it define him.

**Author's Note:**

> Even though consent is usually used in a sexual context, the term itself is not inherently sexual, and I think that's important to remember. For this prompt, I wanted to explore consent in both a non-sexual and sexual context. First, especially for Harry and Draco in a post-war period, I thought it was important for them to figure out what they other wanted and consent to being in any sort of relationship together. This then opens them up to the possibility of sexual consent. I know it's a severe understatement to say that not all sexual encounters are consensual, but I wanted to have healthy consent in the fic, showing how checking in with a partner doesn't have to be ruin the mood. I'm a strong advocate for "yes means yes" consent, and I was thrilled to be able to take part in this fest and explore the concept in writing.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at [all-drarry-to-me](https://all-drarry-to-me.tumblr.com/)!


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